


Across the Acheron

by EveryDarkCorner



Series: SladeRobin Week 2018 [4]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hades and Persephone AU, M/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 08:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDarkCorner/pseuds/EveryDarkCorner
Summary: Dick, God of Nature, is tired of being coddled on Mount Olympus.  Until Slade, God of the Underworld, makes him an offer ...





	Across the Acheron

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SladeRobin Week Day 4, using the Prompts 'Gods & Goddesses' and 'Hostage'. When I saw those prompts together, I just couldn't help leaping into a Hades/Persephone AU. :D

When Dick was happy, daffodils sprang up at his feet.

               His flowers trailed through the paths of Mount Olympus, tall and golden, shot through with daises and bursts of chrysanthemum.  The stonework at home was broken up with sprigs of Queen Anne’s lace and rockets of violet stock, growing wherever the roots found purchase.

               Right now, facing up against Bruce, thorns twined around his ankles.

               ‘Alone!’  Bruce’s face was red with rage.  ‘Alone on Earth!  You _idiot_!’

               ‘I wasn’t prancing through the streets of Athens,’ Dick snapped.  ‘There was no one around.’

               Bruce shook his head.  ‘You don’t know how dangerous it is down there.’

               ‘I’m a god!’  Dick threw his arm out, gesturing roughly downwards to encompass the world laid out at the feet of Olympus.  ‘Mortals don’t scare me.  I can turn their spears to wheat and their shields to olives.’

               ‘You are naïve!’  Bruce towered over him.  Beyond the pillars of Bruce’s temple, black storm clouds gathered around Olympus, and distant rumbles warned of coming thunder.  ‘Mortals aren’t all you have to worry about on Earth.  You _will_ stay on Olympus.’

               Dick opened his mouth to argue, but then Bruce’s gaze flicked over his shoulder.  Their shouting match had attracted company.

               ‘Hey.’  Leaning one shoulder on a white pillar, Jason lifted a hand in mocking salute.  ‘You guys done?’

               ‘We’re done,’ Bruce said, with the finality bones breaking.

               Rolling his eyes, Dick lifted his foot and kicked off the brambles.  He ignored the sharp spike of pain and the beads of blood smearing his sandals as he turned and stormed away.

 

* * *

 

He’d only meant to sit on the steps outside Bruce’s temple until his temper cooled.  But whatever Jason wanted from Bruce must’ve been trivial, because he came and sat beside Dick only a few minutes later.

               ‘Hey, misery-guts.’

               Dick grunted.

               Snorting with laughter, Jason drew a long pipe from his belt and took a long breath.  The end glowed even though he hadn’t lit it, and Jason exhaled a cloud of acrid-smelling smoke strong enough to knock a mortal man flat on his back.  Dick just wrinkled his nose.  ‘So what’s Bruce got you all pissy over?’

               ‘He doesn’t like me visiting Earth.’

               Jason’s turn to wrinkle his nose.  ‘What d’you wanna go there for?  It’s not like they’re fighting right now.  Nothing good to watch.’

               Dick huffed.  Of course Jason, God of War, wouldn’t appreciate Earth at peace.  God of War and, supposedly, Wisdom, although Dick had always side-eyed that one.  He supposed war tactics counted as wisdom, because, Jason could play two armies against each other like the fucking fiddle.

               ‘I’ve got a garden down there,’ he admitted.

               ‘So?  Plenty of gardens up here.’

               ‘They don’t grow the same.  Everything on Olympus is too perfect.’  No insects to ward off the leaves; no diseases to attack the flowers; no dry spells or floods or risks to the beautiful, symmetrical gardens of Olympus.  It was like a game where Dick could only win.  ‘There’s no challenge in it.’

               Jason nodded; he understood a challenge.  ‘Eh, give it a while.  Bruce is just pissed off right now.  He’ll calm down.  He always gives his favourite what he wants.’  He elbowed Dick’s arm.

               Dick didn’t rise to it.  ‘Why’s he pissed?’

               ‘Don’t ask me.’  Jason rolled his eyes.  ‘Slade came up from the Underworld last night asking for something.  Whatever it was, he didn’t get it.  Bruce has been a bastard to everyone since.’

               Dick raised his eyebrows.  It was rare Slade ever came out of the Underworld.  He’d missed several feasts, and hadn’t even lifted his head for that last three-year war Jason waged, when most of the other gods at least came to look if not pick a champion and actively get involved.

               Bruce had kept Dick on Mount Olympus, far away from the fighting.  Not safe for delicate-flower Dick, apparently.

               Which reminded him …

               Dick grinned, rounding on Jason.  ‘Remember how you lost your helmet during that last battle?’

               Halfway through another puff on his pipe, Jason groaned, smoke pouring from his nostrils.  ‘Don’t remind me.’

               ‘And I covered for you and said mortals stole it?’

               Jason’s eyes narrowed.  ‘Where are you going with this?’

               ‘Distract Bruce so I can go to Earth?’

               Jason glared.

               ‘You do owe me,’ Dick pointed out.

               Sighing, Jason stood.  His pipe went out the instant he tucked it back in his belt.  ‘Not anymore I don’t.’

 

* * *

 

The river glimmered silver in the morning sunshine, tall grass swaying delicately at its banks.  Dick hurried to the lemon grove— _his_ lemon grove, raised from seeds to saplings to beautiful, arching trees.  The fruit was swollen, glowing yellow, as big as two fists together.

               He took a long breath.  The gardens at Olympus just didn’t look like this.  Dick loved the random flashes of fish on the surface of the water; the sprays of colour in the flowers.  Not flowers crammed into boxes, but flowers free to grow wild as they pleased.  That was nature.

               And he— _he_ was nature.

               Letting out a contented sigh, Dick sat, leaned back on a lemon tree and closed his eyes.  Bruce would notice he was gone soon, and before then Dick wanted to weed his lemon grove; pick the ripest fruit; ensure everything was safe and ready for a long absence.  But first … a moment to enjoy the peace.

               He smelled smoke.

               Dick shot to his feet.  _Fire._   Fire, in his garden.  No, no, no, _no, no, no—_

               Surely Bruce wasn’t that pissed.  Surely he wouldn’t _destroy_ Dick’s garden, out of spite?  Dick whirled on the spot, watching smoke curl around the roots of the trees, caressing his ankles, but he couldn’t see fire.  No burst of orange.  No lick of heat.

               Then, as if forming from the shadows between the trees, a figure stepped towards him.  Short white hair, close-trimmed beard, white eyepatch.  Black cloak swirled around his shoulders, melting into smoke at the hem.

               Dick relaxed.  ‘Slade.’

               Not a fire.  His garden was safe.

               Slade smiled, sharp and thin, and came to a halt a few steps from Dick.  ‘Hello, Dick.  You know you shouldn’t be on Earth all alone.’

               Rolling his eyes, Dick leaned on a lemon tree.  So Bruce sent the Lord of the Underworld to come and get him?  ‘I’m fine.’

               A step closer.  ‘So you are.’  Another step.  ‘I’m glad you didn’t listen to Bruce.  You see, he has something I want.’

               Dick swallowed.  Deep purple hellebores crept up from under his feet as he shuffled back.  Slade strode into arm’s reach, then closer still.

               ‘What’s that?’

               Slade reached up, his fingers cold as they traced Dick’s cheek.  ‘You.’

               Before Dick could jerk away, Slade’s other hand came up and gripped his arm, and next thing they spiralled backwards and down, the earth opening up to swallow them.

 

* * *

 

Dick took his next breath in the Underworld, and a moment later twisted his arm free and shoved Slade away.

               ‘What the fuck!’  He backed up, black flowers springing up in the dark stone beneath him.  ‘Are you insane?’

               Anger flickered over Slade’s expression, but then quickly smoothed, and he smirked again.  ‘What’s the matter, Dick?  I thought you could handle yourself on Earth.’

               Dick’s heart shot into his throat because—what, was Slade _listening_ to that argument with Bruce?  ‘We’re not on Earth.’

               ‘No.’  Slade smile was smug and chilling.  ‘We’re home.’

               Dick gulped, daring to let his eyes slip off Slade long enough to take in his surroundings.  Slade’s temple, buried deep in the Underworld.  The pillars were not marble, but black igneous, lit with torches that sent shadows dancing over the dark floor.  ‘This isn’t home.’

               He stretched out his mind and reached for Olympus, high above them.  It ought to be easy—usually just the thought of home whisked Dick back in the space of a blink.  But now, something cut him off.  Dick shuddered.

               ‘Even the gods can’t move in and out of the Underworld whenever they want,’ Slade said, his single grey eye piercing.  ‘Except for me.’

               Dick gritted his teeth.  ‘Take me back to Olympus.’

               ‘If you want to go back, you’ll have to cross Acheron and pass Cerberus just like a mortal.’  Slade stalked closer, a predator closing in on his next meal.  ‘I want you here.’

               As he reached out, Dick struck upwards, knocking Slade’s arm away.  His heart galloped.  ‘Get away from me.’

               Tutting, Slade caught Dick’s wrist and pulled him in close.  Catching Dick’s jaw in a crushing grip, he tilted Dick’s head back.  ‘Why do you want to go back to Olympus?  To be coddled?  Treated like a child?  Bruce wants to shut you away up there because he thinks you can’t take care of yourself.  And you want to crawl back to him?  To prove him right?’

               Dick hesitated.  That grip on his jaw ached, and Slade’s breath on his face was warm, his body pressed close.  Dick’s breath came in sharp pants.  And when Slade let go of his wrist, curling his arm around Dick’s waist, Dick could’ve pushed him off.

But he didn’t.

               Slade’s voice lowered, closer to a growl.  ‘I thought not.’

               He dipped his head, pressing Dick’s mouth to his in a long, deep kiss.

               Dick let out a choked sound of surprise, jerking back, but Slade’s hand swept off his jaw and instead cupped the back of Dick’s head, pulling him up into the kiss.  Dick flinched; felt the soft flicker of Slade’s tongue against his lower lip.  And went limp.

               Fuck.  _Fuck._   No one on Olympus kissed him like this, all tight grip and hard mouth and full of lust.  Too afraid of hurting the gentle nature god.  Too afraid of Bruce’s retribution.

               Dick hesitated, then slipped his hands to Slade’s chest, and instead of pushing him away, slid his arms up and around Slade’s neck, drawing him down, arching into his body.  He felt the scrape of teeth on his lip, and then Slade bit down.  He yelped, drawing back, but Slade held him in place, lips moving—and then he bit down again.

               And this time, Dick moaned.

               Slade drew back, just enough to press kisses down the side of Dick’s throat.  ‘You’ll be happy here, Dick.  My partner in the world of the dead.  No one to underestimate you; no one to treat you like a child.’  He laughed softly, beard brushing Dick’s shoulder.  ‘And there’s no better challenge than growing flowers in the Underworld.’

               ‘Eavesdropper,’ Dick said—then sighed as Slade traced his tongue up the column of Dick’s throat.

               Somewhere, far above, thunder crashed.

               Dick leaped out of Slade’s arms, heart thumping.  Another roar of thunder rippled overhead, barely behind the first one.  The ceiling quaked.  In the darkness outside the temple, tiny shards of loose stone fell from the cave roof and clattered on the ground.

               ‘Bruce,’ Dick whispered.

               Slade rolled his eye.  ‘The God of Gods is throwing a tantrum.’

               ‘I have to go back.’  Dick shook his head.  ‘This is—this is insane.  I can’t stay here.  Take me back to Olympus.’

               ‘You don’t want that.  Not really.’

               ‘Slade, _please_.’

               But Slade stood firm.  Dick clenched his fists, breath sharp, trying to ignore the ache of his still half-hard cock and actually think with his _head_.

               He let out a breath.  All right.  _All right._

               ‘How about a wager?’

               Slade’s eyebrows shot up.  ‘A wager?’

               ‘A race.’  Dick was always quick on his feet.  He could beat Jason in a race any day, and even Bruce half the time.  ‘If I can beat you in a race, you have to let me go.’

               A quirk of Slade’s lip.  ‘Over the Acheron and past Cerberus?’

               Dick hadn’t actually been thinking that, but he nodded firmly.  ‘If you win, I’ll stay.’

               No chance would Slade win.  Dick was too fast.

               ‘How about,’ Slade said slowly, ‘if I _catch you_ before you leave the Underworld, you stay.  Otherwise, you can crawl back to Bruce.’  He smirked.  ‘I’ll even give you an advantage, since you don’t know the way.’  He waved his hand, and shining copper helmet appeared.

               Dick took it from the air.  ‘This is … Jason’s helmet.  The one he lost.  How did you get it?’

               ‘It was mine before it was Jason’s,’ Slade said simply, not a real answer.  A moment’s pause.  ‘Well?  Run.’

               Dick hesitated.  Then he crammed the helmet on over his head, turned and fled.

 

* * *

 

The helmet was more than an advantage.  It was practically cheating.

               Dick had seen Jason use it a thousand times.  Seen it slip over his head, and Jason vanish from sight.  The gift of invisibility.

               Finding the path out of the Underworld wasn’t that hard, either, once Dick figured out he could just follow the mortal souls walking the other way.  They trailed through the caves, footsteps silent and leaving no impression in the dust.  He’d expected more wailing; more panic and dread as they made their way towards eternity in the Asphodel Meadows, and maybe a lucky few headed for paradise in Elysium.  Instead they were quiet.  Peaceful.

               When he heard running water, he grinned.  Acheron.

               The water was clear as glass, no weeds or grass growing at its edges.  At the river back, souls climbed softly from a boat and made their way past Dick, not seeing him for an instant.  He crept to the boat and stepped in, sitting in the stern, far as possible from the hunched figure at the bow with a staff across its knees.

               ‘Who’s there?’ the figure lifted its head, but Dick didn’t answer, and the helmet kept him unseen until the figure gave up with a shake of its head, and pushed the boat out into the water and back across the Acheron.

               Heart thumping, Dick turned and watched the opposite shore.  No sign of Slade.  Beneath him, a daisy wormed its way up between the decks of the boat. He yanked it up and tossed it in the river.

               At the opposite shore, he leapt out of the boat and set off running.  He ducked through a low tunnel, pushing past souls that left patches of cold on his skin, and out into an open space.

               Daylight.  Earth.  He just had to cross this cave.

               And pass Cerberus.

               The dog’s three heads brushed the ceiling of even this massive cave, and as Dick crept past one head turned, sniffing the air.  Another growled.

               He backed as far from Cerberus as he could, trailing the far wall of the cave with soft footsteps.  No point in running—the sound would only alert Cerberus.  The dog leaned forward, all three heads taking huge, loud sniffs of air.  Dick froze, back to the wall.

               Cerberus straightened, ignoring him, and turned back to the souls traipsing into the Underworld.

               Dick breathed out.

               As he drew closer to the exit, it was still storming outside.  Rain lashed the ground; lightening cracked through the sky.  The sky was a boiling cauldron of green-grey clouds.

               ‘Bruce,’ he said softly.  ‘I’m OK.’

               Another crash of thunder.  Then, gradually, the rain let up.  Dick released a sigh.  Bruce heard him.

               He could go home.  Back up to Mount Olympus.

               And … and never see his garden on Earth again.  Be coddled and babied and patted and fussed over.  He bit his lip.  Behind him, footsteps echoed through the cavern.  He had a moment—a moment to decide.  And anyway, Slade couldn’t see him with the helmet on.

               Staying was insane.

               But going back …

               He almost made up his mind when something grabbed his arm.

               Dick gasped, and Slade whirled him around and yanked the helmet off his head.  He tossed the helmet aside, and it vanished before it could clatter to the ground.

               Slade grinned, teeth sharp and white.  ‘I win.’

               ‘But—but—how did you—?’

               Slade glanced down.  Dick followed his gaze, and sagged.

               The scarlet roses and purple-black tulips circling his feet looked almost apologetic, bobbing their heads as thunder crashed outside, and Slade drew Dick away.

 

* * *

 

Dick didn’t resist.  He’d chosen this, near enough, and Bruce hammering on the ceiling with rain and wind and thunder wouldn’t change it.  He pulled his arm from Slade’s grip only so he could walk into the temple beside him, head high.

               Slade only grinned.

               As they stepped between the black pillars of the temple, Slade waved his arm.  The temple melted away, walls rearing up where the pillars had stood.  A roaring fireplace replaced the torches, thick grey furs spreading over the hard stone floor.  Dick shivered as delicious warmth hit him.

               ‘How d’you do that?’

               Slade shrugged.  ‘The same way Bruce controls the thunder.’

               Rubbing his hands together, Dick knelt by the fire, sagging as the heat crept through his skin.  He hadn’t noticed the Underworld was so cold until now.  He heard Slade move behind him, and then gentle hands touched his ankles, then slid down to loosen his sandals and prise them off.  Each gentle brush of Slade’s fingers sent another little shiver down Dick’s spine.

               Slade’s hands fell on Dick’s hips, heavy but not squeezing.  ‘I want to fuck you right here.  And then in the temple, and every inch of the Underworld.’

               Something tightened in Dick’s lower belly and he groaned, leaning back into Slade’s chest.  Slade’s hands crept around his stomach; tugged open the tie of Dick’s belt.  As his tunic fell into loose sheets, Slade slipped his hands up underneath the material and—Dick tensed—pushed the fabric up over Dick’s head.

               Dick bit his lip, breathing hard.  He’d run naked before in races with the other gods; hell, the uniform of almost any sport he could think of was bare skin.  But this felt like a different kind of naked.  Not just casting aside a tunic that might get in the way, but actually _baring_ himself.  He could feel Slade staring over his shoulder.

               Slade moved his hands up over Dick’s chest, thumbs flicking at his nipples.  He pressed a kiss into Dick’s shoulder.  ‘You’re perfect.’

               Dick moaned.  He didn’t have half the bulk of Bruce, or even Jason, or the slender grace of Barbara and Selina.  But right then, as Slade’s hands slipped down over the muscled planes of his stomach, and lower, he believed it.  If Slade said he was perfect, he was perfect.

               When Slade curled his hands around Dick’s already half-hard cock, Dick twitched, every muscle tensing, then relaxing utterly as Slade stroked and teased.  He tilted his head back against Slade’s shoulder, mouth open and panting.  His head felt light, heart pounding.  Blood pulsed in his cock as Slade’s hands moved faster, urging him to grow hard.  Slade slipped one hand down, and Dick arched his back with a stifled cry as Slade squeezed his balls, just a shade short of painful.  Dick reached back, found Slade’s legs spread either side of him, and tightened his fingers around them, nails digging into Slade’s skin.  Slade let out a low sound, something between a groan and a growl, and pressed his hips in against Dick’s ass.

               Dick gasped, short and shaky, at the hard line of Slade’s cock pressing against his back.  Slade squeezed his balls again, tugging gently, and Dick groaned before Slade drew his hand away, and with a gesture, summoned a dark stone bowl.  Dick recognised the scent of olive oil.

               Dipping his fingers in, Slade drew his hand behind Dick, and Dick shuddered all over at the warm, slick feeling of fingers sliding over his ass, rubbing gentle circles.  He bucked his hips, chasing both the friction of Slade’s hand and the pressure of those fingers, pressing but not quite penetrating.

               ‘Are you ready?’ Slade murmured.

               Dick just about managed a whine.

               Slade’s laughter was a soft, deep sound, vibrating against Dick’s back.  His hand slowed, just a little, on Dick’s cock, massaging with a firm rhythm, as he speared one finger up into Dick’s body.

               A sharp gasp, gritted teeth, tense legs.  Slade’s beard brushed Dick’s shoulder as he kissed him.

               ‘Relax, Dick.  Relax, you can take it.’

               Taking a long breath, Dick eased the tension in his legs.  Loosened his jaw.  Slade’s finger didn’t hurt, but it was hot and foreign, and he squirmed against the pressure—

               And moaned, as his own movement jostled Slade’s finger inside him, drawing it out a little and back in.  He shifted again, felt the same sweet, filling sensation, and sighed.

               ‘That’s it,’ Slade murmured.  He squeezed Dick’s cock; tugged at it more insistently.  ‘Enjoy it, Dick.  You want me to fuck you.  You can handle it.’

               Damn right he could handle it.  Fuck, Dick _enjoyed_ it.  He rocked his hips; whimpered when Slade added a second finger, and then began thrusting them up into Dick, meeting his own movements and then some.  Dick’s breath hitched, blood roaring in his ears, and a third finger slipped in just as easily, not just thrusting now but curling, spreading and stretching.  Sharp, hot sensations shot up Dick’s spine and he was close—he was close—

               He wanted to scream in frustration when Slade’s hand slipped off his cock.  He choked it down to an irritated groan.

               ‘Wait for me, Dick,’ Slade said smoothly.  ‘I want you to come when I’m fucking you.’

               Dick didn’t bother to restrain his moan at that.

               Drawing his fingers from Dick’s ass, Slade grabbed Dick’s hips and yanked him back, then pressed a hand between Dick’s shoulder blades and pushed him down.  Dick buried his face in the soft grey furs, breathing heavy, longing to reach over his stomach and chase the finish almost as much as he longed to wait, to feel Slade inside him.

               Slade shifted him; Dick heard the wet drip of olive oil, and then two slick hands pressed into his ass cheeks, pulling them apart.  Dick blinked, head hazy in the way he guessed mortals felt when they needed to sleep.  A thin green vine coiled from under the fur rug and twisted around his fingers, leaves springing up as he watched.  He felt the blunt pressure of Slade’s cock against his ass and the vine tightened.  Gripping.

               And slowly, slowly, Slade pushed forwards and _in_.

               Dick pressed his face into the furs and groaned, long and low and heavy.  It was so much more than fingers.  So much more than anything.  It burned, pulsed inside him.  He drew his hands back, taking a breath to tell Slade to stop.

               But found his hands pinned to the floor.

               Dick lifted his head with a short gasp.  The vines had grown, twining around his wrists, coiling between his fingers.  Thick and green and strong, they pinned him to the floor.  One crept across the furs, brushed his cheek and curled up across the back of his neck.

               Slade’s hands, still wet and soft from the oil, soothed down Dick’s ass and thighs.  Dick could hear Slade’s breath, laboured and heavy.  He pressed his hips in closer, moving in deeper, and his legs came flush against the back of Dick’s, burning hot.  As he drew back, Dick gritted his teeth, but the second thrust hurt less than the first, and went just as slow.  The third didn’t hurt at all.  Only felt tight and hot.  Dick shifted, and the vines tightened and held him in place.  He flinched as one brushed his leg, coiling around him and Slade, holding them together.  He stiffened.

               But Slade only laughed.  He traced his hand down Dick’s leg, brushing the vine.  ‘Enjoying yourself?’

               ‘Mmh.’  Dick didn’t know how to explain that he didn’t control them.  They did what he felt.  And apparently he felt … _this_.

               Slade rocked his hips, the movement not as long and deep, but faster.  He did it again, again, and suddenly Dick was gasping, arching his back, enjoying the sweet, filling pressure.  He wanted so badly to reach for his cock, aching and ignored, but the vines kept him pinned, and all he could do was moan into the furs and tilt his hips up to reach the best, deepest angle.

               Speed building, Slade tightened his hands around Dick’s hips, fingers digging into the bone.  Then he slipped one hand forward, and grabbed Dick’s cock, and Dick _screamed_ as blood pounded low in his body, and in only a few strokes he came, sweet and dizzying.

               Slade stroked him through the aftershocks, until Dick was twitching and whimpering, still arching into Slade’s sharp, hard thrusts.  And then Slade’s breath caught, and he grabbed Dick’s hips again and pulled him down, _hard_.  Dick writhed at the warm, wet sensation of Slade climaxing inside him.  His legs trembled.

               He needed Slade’s help to tear up the vines before he could move.  They left red marks against his skin, sharp, stark lines where he’d struggled and they’d tightened.  Then he curled into Slade’s chest, eyes closed, aching and content.

               Slade pressed a kiss against Dick’s temple.  ‘Are you hungry?’

               Blinking, Dick lifted his head.  Slade twisted his wrist, and a fat, red fruit appeared in his palm.  Dick hesitated a moment, then reached for the pomegranate.


End file.
